


Acts of Faith

by Trollvine



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Oral Sex, Priest Kink, Submission, faith - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 11:58:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17980895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trollvine/pseuds/Trollvine
Summary: Fostering cooperation between groups with different ideals and practices is never easy





	Acts of Faith

**Author's Note:**

> This took my forever to write and edit.

The calm evening wind off the sea gently stirred the leaves of the cathedral square trees. All over Stormwind, the lights had begun to flicker into life as early night settled over the city. 

Father Damien stood at the westward window of his official offices, watching the orange clouds slowly surrender their color to night. He was a middle aged man, his face lined with worry and the beginnings of gray showing in his otherwise black hair. Beneath the robes of a stately office was a powerful frame, for in his youth Father Damien had been a soldier of no slight skill. 

Hailing from the Arathi highlands, he had fought with pride beneath the crimson banner of Arathor against troll raids, the migrating groups of ogres, and eventually, the splintered rogues of the once noble house of Perenolde. 

But a savage wound to his leg had left him unable to run or fight on horseback, and the vile undead had swept into the region. Arathi was a bloody no mans land, with no room for a man who could not hold his own. With a train of refugees, Damien had come south, sitting alone in the last wagon with his bow, sharp eyes always on the watch for any danger to the caravan of civilians. 

Damien had come to the church, determined that if he could not inspire in armor, he would do so in holy orders. In the youth left without parents by constant war, Damien discovered a deep paternal instinct within himself he had never known, and soon was a beloved figure among common folk, always willing to share his fortunes and his time. 

He sighed and turned as a brisk knock sounded on his door, and he bade the knocker enter as he moved to his simple wooden desk. 

This would be his partner for the week of commune, as it was known. The tradition dated back decades, and had been instituted to foster understanding and acceptance among the various magical orders required to work together for the benefit of the kingdom. 

Damien had done this himself when he had arrived, spending an insufferable week among the dusty books of one of the high mages of Stormwind. He had never had any prejudice against those who could use magic, but it largely a wasted week to his mind. However, it was a time honored requirement of all the magical disciplines, and no one was exempt. 

This time, it was the church that had been housing guests for a week. Damien had done his best with them, and so many of the young men and women had warmed to the clergy, the practices, and the traditions of the faithful. He was justly proud, knowing his work helped strengthen the bonds of unity among all peoples of the kingdom.

The door opened and a younger man entered the room. He was pale, with a wavy mane of black hair reaching down to his bored eyes. His features were sharp, and his black and red silken robes seemed to be a size smaller than they ought to be, revealing the thinness of his frame. 

Damien frowned. The young man was Callum Whitlock, and he was prodigious in the arts of demonology and necromancy. He came from a wealthy family with connections, stood to inherit, and could likely achieve anything he set his considerable mind to. 

But he was aloof and distant, and when he wasn’t being aloof and distant, he was snide and dismissive. He struck Damien as the worst example of spoiled aristocratic youth, used to getting his way, and looking down his nose with mockery at the traditions of the priests. 

Damien had only managed to keep him occupied with Sister Willow, a young woman with a talent for shadow magic that rivaled the highest elders of the holy orders. The two had gotten along famously, and Callum had largely not been Damien’s problem for the week. Still, Damien was the presiding Father over his order, and such a position came with responsibilities, such as a closing interview with his guests at the end of the week.

He motioned to the chair before his desk, and Callum draped himself into it as Damien settled behind his desk, frowning. This was a final interview before Callum returned to to his home and studies, and Damien was obligated to make nice, have a civil chat, and other such bland pleasantries. But he didn’t know what to say. 

Something was different about Callum, he noticed. The young man had fixed him with a curious expression, as opposed to the bored disinterest he had usually displayed. His eyes seemed to be roving over Damien, and Damien cleared his throat, hoping to break this odd tension he felt growing. 

“Thank you for coming, Callum. I trust you enjoyed your time in the cathedral with Sister Willow?”

Callum smiled slightly, and gave the slightest nod. Not for the first time Damien wondered if something unseemly had happened between Callum and Sister Willow, but dismissed the thought from his mind. Sister Willow was an adult, and could do as she chose, despite the stern disapproval of her elders. 

Callum suddenly leaned forward in his chair, tenting his fingers before him in his lap, and regarded Damien with that same curious look. 

“I did enjoy my time, thank you Father. But I have some questions, if I might be perfectly honest.” 

Damien was taken aback, not expecting anything like this. He was honestly surprised Callum had even spoken. But he composed himself quickly, and nodded in assent. 

“You can ask me anything, Callum.” 

“Is it true you don’t ever have sex?” 

The question struck Damien out of the blue. He had expected something about a ritual, a prayer, even a question about the architecture of the building itself. But nothing so personal, and frankly, so rude. He narrowed his eyes, trying to appear stern. 

“That is a very personal question, Callum. I don’t appreciate being asked.” 

Callum looked injured, in an ironic, mocking way. “Oh I mean no offense, it was something I heard in regards to your order. I was simply curious if celibacy was really a vow you took?” 

Father Damien sighed, folding his hands before him. “It is true. The vow is meant to keep us focused on our work for the betterment of all. Relations lead to families, and the congregation is our family. Having a mate, or offspring, has a tendency to cloud ones priorities in regards to our duties.” 

Callum settled back into his own chair, crossing his legs. He looked pensive, as if turning this information over in his head. “But, that doesn’t explain why you can’t have sex, as it were. There are precautions you can take against the arrival of a child, for example.” 

Damien tapped his fingers against each other, slightly impatient. “You forget the partner themselves. Do you share your bed with those you don’t care for?” 

“Sometimes.” Callum smiled, crossing his arms now. “You confuse the heart and the loins, Father, for they are separate in truth, and each with their own needs.” 

Damien did not like being lectured on this subject, and certainly not by this young man. He suddenly felt very foolish for discussing it. 

“The vow is the vow, and stands on its own merits. My mind is focused because of it, and my work excels for it. I have nothing more to say on this.” 

So saying, he rose, turning his back to Callum and waving his hand as he began to walk back towards the window. 

“Are you never even tempted?” Callums voice came from behind him, and impatience bubbled up in Father Damien. He had indulged this line of inquiry long enough. He turned to tell Callum to leave, and was stopped in his tracks, his mouth halfway open to speak. 

Callum stood before his desk, his finely tailored robes cast on the floor with what must have been astonishing quickness. He had been wearing no shirt nor pants beneath his robe, but was instead clad in the kind of lingerie Damien could only imagine cost more than the robe that had covered it. His privates were covered, barely, by a strip of black material that left little to the imagination. His arms and legs were covered in sheer black silks, the edges done in exquisitely stitched floral patterns of red and black. These were connected to a solid black garter by a dizzying array of straps, strings, and metal circles, worked in what looked like gold. 

He stuck his surprisingly curved hips to one side, smiling that lazy smile and toying with a lock of his black hair. Damien realized he was staring, and tried to compose himself and tear his eyes of Callum’s body. 

Callum grinned and knelt suddenly, gathering up his robe. He turned to flounce from the room, and Damien was so entranced at the younger man’s backside he almost failed to hear the jeering call as Callum left the room. 

“No, you’re never tempted at all, are you.” 

 

The next morning found Father Damien sitting glumly behind the choir benches in the church, listening to the morning hymn. Today he would be delivering the entire sermon himself, and the opportunity to address the entire congregation was something he’d looked forward to for months. Today, he knew, some of the highest ranking members of the church and the cream of Stormwind nobility would be in attendance. 

But the night before had not been easy. Callum had left, but Damien had not been able to get a decent nights sleep. His dreams had been distracted, to say the least, and not even an early rise and a cold bath in the stream had fully cleared his mind, nor reduced his private swelling. 

Callum had been right, though Damien hated to admit it. Temptation was a constant, and he had been unable to unsee the image of Callum, his body clutched in silk and posed like an offering. He loathed to think about the situation in this context, but he felt like he had missed a chance. He should have said something, done something. But the moment was gone. 

He sighed to himself. Here he was, bemoaning his own sacred vows over a young man. Far from his proudest hour to be sure. At the very least, the week of the commune was over, and he doubted he would ever see Callum Whitlock again. 

The choir finished their hymn, and Damien rose, moving around the choir benches and stepping to the pulpit. It was a large, solid affair, made from fine oak wood and boasting a giant golden eagle that looked out to the congregation, dazzling wings spread wide. Behind, where he stood, was a smallish space covered by a cloth, where the regular speakers kept notes or books. The murmur of voices died away as he cleared his throat, looking around and smiling. 

“Good morning, friends, new and old-“ 

There was a rustle, and with a sudden shock Damien felt a light pressure and a snaking movement. It happened so fast his brain could not even register what was happening until it was done. The fabric cover over the small space fluttered aside, and a slender hand had slid up the inside of his robes, and was teasing at the front of his loose shorts. 

Damien gasped as the nimble fingers grasped his shaft expertly from the fabric confines and worked it with gentle squeezes. His body responded with unusual vigor, and he found himself nearly fully erect in a moment. 

The cathedral was witness to a miracle that day, as not a single person in the congregation seemed to notice his gasp or have any awareness of the Father’s strange new situation. By some superhuman effort, Damien focused and marshaled himself, clearing his throat and continuing with the greeting.

His mind was reeling, however. He was standing before the nobility of Stormwind, at the pulpit from which had sounded the great proclamations of his faith, from which had shown the light to guide the kingdom through its darkest hours, and an unknown person was manipulating his cock. 

“I would like to open today by leading with a prayer, if we may. Please, bow your heads in repose and contemplation.” 

It was an odd way to conduct a service, but at least one level of anxiety fled from him with the wave of motion of hundreds of heads bowing in unison, eyes now focused on laps, shoes, and floor. Father Damien lowered his own eyes, glaring with absolute fury as he yanked the fabric covering aside. 

On his knees before the Father, wearing nothing but that accursed lingerie from the previous night, was Callum Whitlock. His lazy eyes twinkled with that mischievous calm of the confident prankster, and he stroked Damien’s cock slowly but firmly, his fingers flexing in subtle rhythm to the motion of his hands. The priestly robes Damien had donned with such pride were bunched up around his midsection, and only the excess of fabric used in their tailoring offered enough slack to hide this fact from the hundreds of people gathered in the church. 

Damien could only hope at this point that everyone has obeyed his request to bow their heads. Perhaps someone had not, but Damien prayed his motion would not be too obvious as he reached down, grabbing for the insolent boy’s wrist. 

Callum was too quick. He flexed his arms this way and that, avoiding the clutch of Father Damien, who could not exert his full effort in a grapple with the hidden boy and remain subtle and unsuspected. Callum kept his eyes locked on Damiens, shaking his head back and forth, still smiling. 

Anger boiled in Father Damien. This was a sacred place, by the light. This was a solemn spiritual rite, a holy day, the oldest tradition of the kingdom’s faith, and this spoiled boy dared to flaunt his disregard and his contempt. 

Damien lashed quickly, snatching a handful of Callum’s tangled black hair. If he thought pain would persuade the young man to stop, he was wrong, and nearly choked back a cry as Callum parted his lips wide and pushed forward, enveloping Damien’s cock in his soft, warm mouth. 

Only a lightning fast clench of his jaw stopped Damien from gasping aloud and alerting the entire congregation that something was amiss. He realized he had used up his prayer window, and needed to continue with this sermon as normally as possible if this disgrace was to remain undiscovered. Abandoning the pulpit under the pretense of sudden illness would be unseemly, both for the loss of composure of a Father of the church, and the fact that he was now fully erect, and tucking his aching shaft back into his robes unseen was intolerably risky. 

Calum was not helping. He dove into his task with absurd eagerness, his tongue flickering and slithering without pause, his head bobbing back and forth despite the older man’s fingers still entwined in his black hair. Saliva was pushed over every inch, lubing the shaft for the young man’s fingers and lips as he kissed, licked, nipped and sucked. Small moans and whimpers from him sent shivering vibrations of sensation through Father Damien, and he felt the rising ache of his own lust. But he could not just stand here in silence forever. 

“Citizens of Stormwind.” He spoke now, and hundreds of heads raised in unison, an unsettling number of eyes now fixed upon him. “I come to you after a completion of an important yearly tradition, dating back to the unification of our kingdom and the first foundations of this mighty city. A tradition of education and hospitality among the arcane communities of the city. The strengthening of these bonds among our young people reminds us of the common causes that bind us all together, in opposition to chaos, and in defiance of the darkness.” 

This speech was supposed to delivered with iron resolve, and a confidence boosting tone, to inspire the audience. Under Callum’s ministrations, Damien was lucky he could speak the words without stammering. The crowd was murmuring and nodding, and Damien inwardly sighed with relief that he seemed to be doing his job as a priest, duress aside. He felt a surge of conviction himself, among other surges, but his was tinged with anger. 

Callum had no respect for anything, not for tradition, authority, not even the basic comfort of people around him. All that mattered to him was what he wanted, and he would do whatever he needed to to get whatever it was. 

The young man in question had stopped his frantic eagerness of movement, and settled into a measured rhythm. He slid back and forth, pressing and pushing slowly but firmly with his tongue. One hand moved Damien’s knees, before sliding up to press against the Father’s thigh. He cooed gently, the vibrations of the noise shuddering through Damien’s member as he was secretly serviced. 

“It is those bonds I am reminded of today, and I am reminded of every time I walk this city and see what cooperation has done. It is by our unity that the buildings of this city rise, the borders are secured, and the citizens thrive of Azeroth thrive in safety.” 

Damien’s cock was aching now. Whatever the boy’s many, many faults, he was skilled at this. The years of self denial seemed to have worn down his resistance, and each drag of those soft lips and flicker of the young man’s tongue tugged at his concentration and his resolve. He thought back to the times his longing had risen with no outlet, all the times he had lain alone in his cold bed. 

He was no stranger to his desire, but in a serious life he had not had many opportunities to explore it, and had squandered the few that had come his way. Now something he had imagined so many times was finally underway, and his brain began to reel as he still struggled to believe this was really happening to him. But his body did not resist. His reaction had been instant, and now waves of pleasure he could not ignore or deny were roiling through him and growing steadily in their intensity. 

“But this unity…. this unity…” 

He was slipping. Callum was increasing his movement again, gently twisting his head side to side, forcing the aching head of Damien’s cock against the soft warmth of his inner cheeks before pushing back into his willing throat. 

Damien could take no more. Light be damned if someone saw, but this risk would have to be taken if he had even a prayer of getting through this undiscovered. 

To the congregation it seemed as though he had suddenly dropped his head and hands, as if in a moment of deep spiritual contemplation. 

The reality was different. Damien’s hands folded in front of him, out of sight of the people in the pews, as if he had folder them calmly in front of him. In truth, he reached down and gripped Callum’s head with fingers like vices in that tousled black hair. He forced Callum’s face forward, the whole action drawing a muffled squeak of surprise, mixed with a satisfied moan that Father Damien could feel along the entire length of his shaft. 

This was hardly a better situation, but at least now Callum could not bob his head and press those lips up and down in the motion that was slowly causing Damien’s mind to spin. 

He raised his head suddenly, as if with renewed vigor and purpose. 

“This unity and safety is only possible with the tireless good works and diligence of each and every one of us! We all contribute in our own ways, and for the good of all we must do what we can each and every day! With a sense of purpose and pride, there is no threat to our great alliance that we cannot overcome, together!” 

The assembled congregation began applauding, not uncommon, and it was exactly what Damien had been hoping for, as any noise would drown out the noise coming from below his waist. He nodded and smiled, beaming around at the mass of faces. 

Callum struggled below the pulpit, his inability to breathe beginning to test even his endurance. Damien could feel his tongue squirming, the young man’s body twisting in the confined space. One of his hands started to tap at Father Damien’s thigh, and his squeals became slightly urgent. 

Slowly, so very slowly, Father Damien allowed Callum to pull back off his shaft, those lips dragging beautifully along it. As the tip of his cock left Callum’s throat, he felt the young man inhale desperately, whimpering in relief. He allowed Callum to catch his breath, feeling merciful. 

The congregation had settled again, and Damien freed one of his hands, raising it in a gesture of acknowledgment. The church quieted, and Damien nodded. He returned his hand to the top of the pulpit, clearing his throat again. 

“Now, if we may bow our heads in a moment of silence, that we might remember and reflect on those who made the ultimate sacrifice in pursuit of our goals as a unified people.” 

The congregation lowered their heads again, and Damien felt a pang of guilt at the giddy feeling that suddenly gripped him. But he shook it off. He was far gone from that noble ideal he had set as a goal he would always pursue. He wanted the young man to preform his own rites of worship again. 

As the moment of silence began, Father Damien grabbed Callum’s head again, and on the sacred pulpit of the church of the light, he guided his aching shaft back into the young man’s mouth, forcing him down to the base. Heads bowed, Father Damien looked down, and his eyes met Callum’s. He stared with a cool dominance, and Callum look up, his lips wrapped around Damien’s shaft. 

He looked docile, and blissful. Tamed at last, Damien thought, and with that he began to slowly thrust, fucking the young man’s mouth, on his knees before him, hidden from the sight of the hundreds of other people in the massive church hall. It didn’t take long now, and as he called the end of the moment of silence, he came, expelling his long pent up cum into Callum’s mouth, and Callum moaned gently as he swallowed, accepting the priests private blessing. 

 

A few hours later found Father Damien walking alone down the hall to his office. At the completion of Callum’s service, he had lost his erection with the usual speed, and the younger man had been kind enough to tuck the father’s member back into his clothes. As for the holy service, Father Damien had received praise and congratulations from the congregation and his peers, and a blessing from the archbishop himself. By all accounts he had gotten away clean with the secret act, but inwardly he still seethed, not just at Callum but at himself. How quickly his resistance had fallen. How quickly he abandoned his vow, and for what. The deed was done, and now that the pleasure was gone, only remorse remained. 

He had left Callum at the pulpit, assuming the younger man had sneaked away after the church had emptied out. He had a dinner invitation to some nobles house, the name escaping him in his cheerless mood. He had no plans to attend at any rate. He needed his bed. 

He opened the door to his office and moved to his desk, furrowing his brow. There was a black scroll, sealed with scarlet wax. Communications between church officials were sent on plain parchment. 

The seal of wax was stamped with a crest depicting a bat, spreading its wings wide across a capital letter W. 

He broke the seal, unrolled the parchment and read. The message was short, written in silvery ink with an artistic hand. 

“Thank you for service this morning. This afternoon three considerable anonymous donations were made to the Stormwind Orphanage, the Offices of public education, and the Commons Hospital. I pray you may attend to my spiritual needs again in the future.” 

\- Callum Whitlock

Father Damien sighed. He really didn’t want to see Callum again, but this news of donation felt illicit, like hush money or a bribe. He pulled out a single piece of parchment and began to pen a note. 

Outside, the moon rose slow and majestic over the mountains, casting pale light down on the spires and towers of the cathedral district. A single light burned in a priest’s window, and a single black bat fluttered on the night breeze.


End file.
